


Strange Like Me;

by penguinpie



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Big Gay Love Story, Canon Asexual Character, Character POV, Drabble, Feelings, M/M, canon homoromantic/gay character, mlm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguinpie/pseuds/penguinpie
Summary: Small "Drabble"  / " Filler " from my RPs wherein Oswald thinks back on his time with Ed while he's in Arkham. It deals with a little bit of his budding romantic feelings for Ed. ( Which mostly unknown to him at the time were actually shared )
I found this in my archive and felt like it would be fun to share! :^)





	

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned, everything I'm uploading here is part of a series that myself and my rp partner have been working on since December (romantically). Not everything is in order but it all goes together!

> **❝** Maybe you’re not what I need but you’re all that I want. You started   
>  a war between my head and heart and everything feels wrong without you;  
>  almost as wrong as it did with you by my side.  **❞**

##  **— //** Unknown. 

The screams didn’t keep him awake. Eyes open, fully conscious to the world or entirely comatose those screams were always present now. Always haunting his mind. His one comfort would surely be the fact that the dreadful wails that howled through his small room, intruding upon his very being were not always familiar to him. The screams inside his dreams, forced into his mind like a nail driven into a wall, however, were. That made the former just a little more tolerable. 

Bearable though didn’t describe this place. He’d made a mistake in thinking so when he was first admitted and now all he had was time to think on those mistakes and oh so many more. Like the tormented wailing from every direction it was constant. He’d thought of his mother, every day since; but perhaps unexpectedly she wasn’t the only familiar face that crossed his mind and she wasn’t the one who truly comforted him. 

That fact alone caused some kind of sting of guilt within him. Her memory had been desecrated by such horrible imagery, so much so it felt better to try and not think about her at all. It pained him and relieved him all the same. Her warm, smiling face couldn’t comfort him in the darkness. The room was cold, and he was curled beneath cheap, scratchy blankets and a pillow that felt more like laying his head upon a brick. The only light he had to illuminate his room was that which seeped under his door and the dim moonlight from beyond his barred and meshed window.   
  
These old rooms felt so without life and what life they did have was cursed by pain. He could feel it in his bones, all the miserable energy trapped within and he could do little but add to it. Eerie and bleak, his soupy eyes remained mostly fixed to the light underneath the door. It was occasionally obscured by moving shadows, footsteps that surely belonged to the staff as they went by. He realized that his only true, pleasant thoughts in this mess were those of Ed. The only person he thought he could consider his friend and even they were tainted by doubt. He wondered if Ed cared, he wondered if Ed thought about him; wondered if he was as missed as Ed were. It seemed like a stupid thought. He wasn’t anything to be missed. But he couldn’t help but think so fondly on their time together and he couldn’t help but miss his arms wrapped around him of a night. Holding him reassuringly just as his mother did when he was a little boy.

It had occurred to him, at least once, that their friendship had been a peculiar one. Ed cooked for him, and sang him songs. They ate together and watched movies. They talked and talked, Ed renewed a sense of value in him that had nearly been stamped out after he’d lost his mother. He had found himself counting down to the very second Ed walked in the door after work and for no particular reason other than to once again be in his company.   
  
Best of all Ed made him think as though this feeling was entirely mutual. It became almost natural for him to help himself to the other’s wardrobe and clothe himself in those which didn’t even belong with him; and when Ed had given him his phone number he had looked for reasons to call him, even silly, trifling ones. His mind hadn’t dared linger on these things for simple fear of what he might have allowed himself to think or even feel. He never had a friend to speak of before so he hardly had the experience to judge and so he tried not to. He’d done whatever necessary to bury the idea of anything more. He’d been frightened by some vauge fancy that Ed would always be with him and that this might have been complementary. What kind of fool would he be if not? ~~What kind of freak.~~  
  
Indeed, their friendship was odd but no one said either of them were usual men. The horrors he suffered here, the man calling himself Professor Strange who watched with cool interest as he was strapped down and tormented cruelly with painful shocks and even more agonizing imagery driven into his unwilling psyche, these were the things that kept him awake in the dead of the night; his only comfort from it all was the time they spent together. He almost felt as if he lived to hear Ed’s voice on the other end of the phone for the three minutes they were allowed to talk, and even then this came only every week or so.   
  
He could almost laugh at himself and certainly he would if he hadn’t cried instead. His unconventional friend was so missed, met with silent tears and a small convulsed sniffle. 


End file.
